Pushing her feet off his lap, he climbed out of the jacuzzi⏤
⏤and again nearly ran into Veronica.
The housekeeper stood there with a tray covered in drinks, along with a number of pieces of cake.
He hadn’t even heard her come down.
He hadn’t seen the motion in his periphery as she descended the stairs.
She really was like a cat.
The housekeeper smiled at his startled look, straightening from where she’d been setting the tray down on the flagstones.
“Would you like your cake and drink upstairs, Mr. Jourdain?” she said politely, that smile still twitching her lips. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Blender difficulties.”
“Yes,” he said, blunt. “I’d like mine upstairs. I can take it⏤”
“No, no. Don’t be silly. You’ll be wanting a shower, of course.”
Dags frowned, tempted to argue, then didn’t.
He glanced down at the three people in the hot tub, and fought not to scowl.
“I’ll be upstairs,” he said. “Going through everything. If that’s all right with everyone. I don’t see how I’m helping anything down here.”
“Good idea,” Karver said, a little too emphatically.
Dags glanced at him and saw he’d moved closer to Phoenix.
The blond actor now had a hand resting on the actress’ thigh.
The message there was unambiguous.
Dags didn’t look at Phoenix herself to see whether she was on board with Karver staking out his territory. At this point, he just wanted to get the hell out of there. A big part of him wanted to tell all three of them to forget it, to piss off, that he didn’t want the job, and furthermore, that they were stupid not to call the police, fame or no.
Stalkers could be dangerous on the best of days.
Whoever this guy was, he was more than your run-of-the-mill weirdo, or over-enthusiastic fan.
He might have actually gotten into their house.
Thinking about that, Dags frowned again.
He knew he wasn’t going to walk away. Maybe it was stupid as hell, but he was going to take the damned job.
As he thought it, Asia smiled, leaning over the flagstones to give him another view down the front of her bright pink bathing suit. She lifted a frozen margarita off the tray with two fingers, grabbing a cookie off a plate with her other hand. Leaning back into her seat on the jacuzzi bench, she arranged her back comfortably against the stone, and took a bite of the cookie.
“Too bad,” she smiled up at him, washing the cookie down with a few sips of frozen margarita. “You’re a much better view than I usually get in here. No offense to Phoenix, of course…”
Karver snorted, pushing playfully at Asia’s shoulder with a hand.
“I can see you’re more of a workaholic type, though,” Asia added, giving a dramatic sigh and pouting her lips. “We’ll have to see if we can break you of that, later.”
Dags frowned, but she waved dismissively at him, like she had earlier that evening, when she shooed him out to the deck.
“Veronica will take care of you,” she said. “Make yourself at home. Veronica knows where everything is. I’m sure she can find you a place to sit and go through our box of weirdo souvenirs after you’ve taken your shower. By the time we come back up, hopefully we can answer any questions you might have.”
Dags glanced at Veronica.
The housekeeper nodded, smiling.
“Of course, sir,” she said. “I can additionally introduce you to Cal, our head security contractor, if you’d like. I believe he and Dave are both working tonight.”
Still frowning faintly, Dags nodded.
He looked back at the three people in the hot tub.
He briefly considered saying something to them, or maybe asking them yet again what it was they wanted from him exactly.
He didn’t.
Without another word, he grabbed his T-shirt off the stone bench and made his way back up the stairs to the cliffside house.
Chapter 14
What Are You?
It felt strange, taking a shower there, in Phoenix and Asia’s house.
It felt final somehow, like he’d committed to being here.
Even so, he found himself lost in a kind of endless, looping, pointless argument with himself about it. That argument was still going on when he shut off the water and yanked the clean towel off the top of the glass shower door. He was still wrapping it around his waist when he walked out of the shower⏤
⏤and pretty much right into another person.
It wasn’t Veronica that time.
He threw himself backwards in instinct, hard enough that he might have crashed through the glass shower door if he’d already closed it. As it was, he stumbled backwards into the shower itself, nearly falling on his ass when his feet briefly slipped on the wet tile.
In the end, he was gripping the towel around his waist with one hand, the tile wall adjacent to the glass door in the other. He stood there, panting, staring at the woman in the bathroom, who now hugged her arms to her chest, looking embarrassed.
Phoenix.
It was Phoenix.
Phoenix was in the bathroom with him.
He hadn’t even heard the door open.
She was still wearing the lime green bikini top and black shorts. She had a gauzy wrap, the same color as her bikini top, knotted around her waist, hanging low on her hips. It was more decoration than any kind of real covering; the material was see-through to the black shorts and her bare legs.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you⏤”
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” he blurted.
“I’m sorry⏤”
“Why are you in here? Do you always just walk into bathrooms where people are taking showers?”
“No, I⏤”
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
She held up a hand, as if to keep him from bursting out with more words.
For some reason, it worked.
He clenched his jaw, falling silent.
She held up the hand for a second longer than felt wholly normal, then slowly lowered it, wrapping her arms back together around her waist.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, her voice subdued, and now, faintly worried. She looked over her shoulder, towards the bathroom door. “Without the others around, I mean. Without them knowing I was talking to you alone. I know I shouldn’t have come in here, but⏤”
“You shouldn’t have come in here,” he growled, maybe unnecessarily. “That fucker Karver already wants to beat me up.”
There was a silence.
Then she gave him a wan smile.
“From what Asia tells me, you can hold your own.”
Dags frowned, but didn’t know how to answer that.
“Look,” she said. “I know this is strange. But everything about you being here is strange, especially with me. So, you know… here I am.”
She fell silent, as if unsure how to finish that thought.
Dags frowned, staring at her.
He didn’t know how to finish that thought, either.
He still hadn’t moved from his strange, half-leaning position against the tile wall, just inside the open shower door. He didn’t buy her story, of course. Who the fuck walked in on someone showering to talk to them?
She could have found some other way to get him alone.
At the same time, he didn’t exactly think she was lying, either.
He couldn’t fully explain that part to himself, but he believed it.
Maybe she was lying to herself?
Not being able to see her aura, he honestly had no fucking idea what she was thinking, or what her possible motives might be.
“Who are you?” she blurted.
He looked over, realizing he’d averted his gaze only then. Seeing the curious, puzzled, frustrated-verging-on-angry look on her face, he fought to keep his own expression still.
; “You know who I am,” he said.
“I don’t mean your name. Or your profession. I know both those things. Who are you? Do we know one another?”
“How the fuck would we know one another?”
He knew his words were overly hostile.
He knew they were ridiculously hostile, and for no reason.
He couldn’t help himself. Truthfully, he might have bolted from the room altogether if he could figure out a way of doing it without brushing up against her to get to the door.
“What do those tattoos mean?” she said.
The question threw him.
He looked down at his arms, then back at her, and caught her staring at his arms and shoulders. She took a step towards him, and Dags felt himself tense even more. Even without being able to see her aura, he swore he could feel her wanting to touch him.
He struggled again, his mind warring between wanting to oblige her, to move closer to her… and wanting to bolt, or at least retreat deeper into the shower stall.
Staring at her, he fought his own frustration, and confusion.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growled then.
She blinked.
Then she gave him one of those strangely nuanced, sideways smiles of hers.
“You really don’t know, do you?” she mused. “I don’t mean that the way I mean it, with you. I mean in the normal, people way. You have no idea who I am, do you? You have no idea who Karver is. Or Asia. You’d never heard of us yesterday. We’re just people to you.”
She nodded towards his face.
“Don’t bother to lie,” she added, tossing her head back to get her dark, wet hair out of her eyes. “I don’t need the flattery. Anyway, I can see it on your face. I can hear it in your voice, when you talk to us. You have no idea who I am.”
“I don’t… follow things,” he said, his voice more subdued. “It’s nothing personal.”
“I told you, I don’t need the flattery. I’m not offended.” She smiled, as if the idea was funny to her. “Why would I be offended that you aren’t someone who watches movies? Or television? Or reads tabloids? What does that have to do with me?”
He felt himself relax, but not much.
“Sports?” she queried, that curious note back in her voice. “Do you follow any of those?”
Thinking about that, about the last time he’d watched anything like that, which happened to be a mixed-martial arts fight he went to in person, he was forced to shake his head.
“No,” he admitted. “I’ve gone to things. I’ve gone to movies… I’ve seen bands. But I don’t really, you know⏤”
“Follow things. Yeah, I heard you.”
She still sounded more amused than put out.
“Are you going to tell me that’s refreshing?” he said.
That more hostile edge was still in his voice, but he could feel the pull behind that, now. He was looking for some reason to dislike her. Hell, he was looking for some reason to fight with her. He understood the first thing far more than the second.
“No,” she said. “Not refreshing. It’s more… odd. I mean, you work in Hollywood. I would think you’d follow some things, just to be able to do your job.”
Dags didn’t bother to answer that.
There really was no answer for that.
Dags couldn’t explain himself to this woman any more than he could explain himself to much of anyone. Somehow, it embarrassed him more with her, though. Some part of him wanted to tell her he’d been normal once. Some part of him wanted to defend himself, to proclaim his prior normalcy, which he’d lost through no fault of his own.
Even that felt like horseshit, though.
Really, if he was being honest with himself, that whole thing he told himself, about being normal once, about having normal friends, normal interests, normal pastimes… it all felt so long ago, so completely irrelevant to who he was now, he couldn’t be totally sure it was even true.
Maybe it was just a story he liked to tell himself.
Maybe it was all a lie.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
She took another step towards him, and now a frown touched her full lips.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Or hurt your feelings.”
Something in her voice really sounded like she meant it. She sounded shocked almost, like she was horrified that she might have hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Did I offend you? I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I find you interesting. I don’t even fully understand why I find you interesting… but it’s making me act… odd. Around you.” She hesitated, still looking faintly worried. “I don’t know why I said those things. Hollywood is such its own little bubble. I know lots of people don’t care about that world. I’m just so lost in it most of the time, I forget.”
Dags felt something in his chest loosen.
He shook his head, once.
“You didn’t offend me,” he assured her.
Relief flashed in those green and gold eyes.
They really were a shocking green, and a shocking gold.
Again, he found himself staring at her, thrown by her lack of aura. He wished there was some way he could ask her about that, but of course, there was no possible way he could.
“Why is this so… weird?” she said, drawing his eyes back to hers.
Her words were quiet now, nearly a whisper.
“You know what I mean, right?” she said, even softer.
She’d taken another step towards him, and now she felt too close. Even so, Dags didn’t back away. He held his ground, watching her take another cautious step in his direction.
“How did you get out of that alley?” she said.
He saw her eyes flicker back to his arms, to the feather tattoos that ran up his forearms to his biceps and shoulders. Her eyes lingered there, as if memorizing the detail of the black and pale blue lines. When he didn’t speak, she looked up, studying his face.
“Asia. She swears she saw wings. She said it looked like you flew.” Phoenix paused, as if waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, a frown-line formed between her eyebrows. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
Dags didn’t think.
He told her the truth.
“No,” he said.
She nodded, that frown-line crinkling a little more. Still studying his face, she let out a kind of strangled half-laugh.
“I guess you couldn’t admit it if you really were an angel, could you? Or if you could fly?” She smiled that sideways smile, more to herself than him. “That’s the sort of thing that gets people thrown in looney bins, Mr. Jourdain. Even in Los Angeles.”
Again, Dags didn’t speak.
She was right in front of him now.
Close enough to touch.
Even as he thought it, she reached out, slowly, tentatively, her very caution almost a form of asking permission. She stretched her fingers and hand towards his arm, watching his eyes. The way she reached for him, she might have been trying to befriend a feral dog.
Dags felt his jaw harden.
He didn’t move. He actually sucked in a breath when her fingers reached his skin. He managed to do it without making a sound, but he felt her notice anyway.
Again, he had no idea how he felt that.
He couldn’t see her aura.
She scarcely touched him at first.
When he remained where he was, she took another step towards him, lightly caressing the muscle along his forearm, her eyes now focused on his brown skin, studying the lines of ink. Her fingers traced those lines carefully, sliding up to his inner elbow, then his bicep.
“Why did you get these?” she said.
“You know why.”
Her eyes shifted up, as if the very fact of his speaking startled her. “Seems like kind of a tell, Mr. Jourdain.”
“Why are you calling me that?” he said.
His voice had deepened, growing gruffer, without him willing it.
> She didn’t answer the question.
“You don’t think it was Jason Tig who’s been writing me notes. Leaving me burning statues. Do you?”
She looked up at his face, and her frown was back, reflecting a confused puzzlement verging on frustration. She was still stroking his arm, and the sensual, deliberate touch of her fingers was making his chest hurt. His cock was hard under the towel. He was struggling to think straight. Even so, he found his mind zeroing in on her question, maybe because he could feel she wanted a real answer.
“I don’t know,” he said, exhaling. “No,” he amended a beat later. “I don’t think it was him. I’m not even sure if it was Jason Tig in that alley⏤”
“What does that mean?” she said.
His eyes shifted back to hers.
He swallowed, studying those odd gold flecks.
“He was different,” Dags said. “In my apartment, before he died. He was different. Like a different person…”
He trailed, fumbling with how to explain the aura thing.
Eventually, he gave up.
“Everyone Tig worked with, everyone he knew, described the person in my apartment tonight,” Dags said. “They all liked him. I liked him. He was a different person. Not the person who went after me and your friend in that alley. Not the person who tried to kill me.”
He wondered if anything he’d said remotely made sense.
When he met her gaze, he saw understanding in her eyes.
“What is your theory?” she said, moving closer still. She continued to trace the muscles in his arm, but higher up now. “Split personality? Drugs? Did someone do something to him?”
Dags frowned, distracted by her fingers to the point where he could barely make sense of her question. After a too-long pause, he shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said.
She frowned.
“Your first lie.” Her voice was certain, matter-of-fact. “You do know.”
He shook his head again. “No. I really don’t.”
“That’s not true.” Thinking, she amended, “Well, it’s not entirely true. You have a theory at least. Something you don’t want to tell me for some reason. You came here to see if you could figure out another piece.”
Dags met her gaze.
“Yes,” he admitted. “That’s more or less right.”
I, Angel Page 12